Fear flooded my system and I immediately tried to retract from his hold, needing space as the room once again began to shrink around me.
Flee. Must flee.
“I can’t,” I managed to choke out as I got up and paced the room. “I won’t.”
“No one is making you, Ev. I already told Dr. Lawrence no.”
My body tensed at his admission. I came to an abrupt standstill in the middle of the living room. “You had no right to do that!” I shouted, my hands flailing as anger coursed through my veins. Ryan looked at me as if I’d lost it, and maybe I had.
“What are you even saying?” Ryan yelled back at me. “Do you see yourself right now? How can you say that when you just know I’m right? You couldn’t in a million years visit that guy. He’s a monster!”
“It’s my decision, Ryan!” I spat. “I’ve already spent enough of my life with someone who felt the need to make decisions for me without consultation. I won’t do it again.”
His hands made a worried run through his hair. “I was just trying to protect you.”
Deep down I knew he was, but part of me—the profoundly damaged part that grimaced every time he uttered words like “mine” or jokingly said “don’t ever do that again”—hated being protected. I loved the safety I felt nestled in his arms, but it was it was another man’s love and overwhelming need to protect that had gotten me into the mess I was in now.
“I need some air,” I said finally, walking hastily toward the front door of our apartment.
“Please don’t leave angry with me, Everly,” he begged.
“I’m not angry—I just need some time.”
“Okay,” he answered, the sound of rejection and defeat clear in his voice. He’d learned not to argue when I uttered this phrase. Needing air was my way of pressing pause, or asking for a time out. Sometimes I just needed to get away and I tried not to think too critically about what that meant.
I don’t know how long I wandered around the city. Everything passed by in a blur until I found myself in that familiar spot by the bridge. It was nearly spring, and the bluff was blooming with wildflowers. As the rest of San Francisco went on with their busy lives, new life was blossoming right here on this hillside.
From here, things seemed much simpler.
The Golden Gate Bridge rose high into the heavens, its red pillars a stark contrast to the grayish blue sky. As I found a seat among the tiny yellow buds, I reached out my hand. The bridge felt so close, its enormity giving it an almost unworldly appearance to the world below. But my fingers only grasped the cool air. Nothing else. My mighty bridge was where it always was, stable and secure in the water beyond.
I’d been coming to this spot since I was a tattered little girl, moving from one foster home to another, wondering when my real mom and dad were finally going to rescue me from the hellhole of a life I’d become accustomed to. I wondered how many foster kids secretly watched Annie late at night, hoping they’d be just like that little redheaded songstress, only to find out that dreams like that never happened outside of the movies, and real life heroes are never what you expect them to be.
I guess at some point I could have figured out why I’d been placed in foster care, but after so many years of being considered a problem or a paycheck to others, I stopped caring. That Annie-like hope eventually leaks out like dirty car oil and all you’re left with is remorse; remorse and regret for the life you could have had if your real parents had been someone else. Someone kind and loving—someone better.
I’d thought my someone better was August. Turned out he was just another version of something even worse.
* * *
I met August when I was eighteen. I stumbled into a nightclub — I was too young to be drinking—too young to be doing a lot of things that night—and when I saw him, he was like the knight in shining armor I’d never had.
Or at least what I’d always envisioned one to be.
He was four years my senior, and at the time he’d seemed so mature and sophisticated. Twenty-two was old enough to drink legally and walk into hotels without a second glance.
It was love at first sight. For both of us. From that singular moment, as the bass boomed in the club and we took our first dance together, we became inseparable.
I never had a mother growing up. Or a big sister or brother. Sometimes kids are lucky and find a good foster family in it for the real reasons.
I wasn’t one of those kids.
I did all right by myself, and had a good head on my shoulders—most of the time—but there was never anyone around to tell me that you should be consumed by love, not the other way around.